


inked roses

by freedomfightsback, PaintedVanilla



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedomfightsback/pseuds/freedomfightsback, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: Charles is in love with the man across the street.





	1. Chapter 1

Charles is in love with the man across the street.

Well, perhaps  _ love  _ is a bit of a strong term. Charles holds a strong affection for him. He doesn’t know his name, but he does know three things: he works at tattoo parlor called Legacy; he has very nice arms, that are covered in tattoos; and he has a daughter. He only knows that he has a daughter, because the girl that sits at the front counter looks so similar to him, she’s either his daughter or his very, very small twin. She comes into work with him every day and leaves every day at the same time.

Now for the things Charles knows about himself: he works at the flower shop across the street from Legacy (General Flowers); he likes his job; the  _ reason  _ he likes his job is because he gets to stare straight across the street into the tattoo parlor. He’s also 98% certain he’s going to die alone. Just like the lonely daffodil in bucket #5.

“Can you go check in the back for fresh daffodils?” Burr asks, yanking Charles out of his trance, “This one looks kind of sad.”

“Sure.” Charles says, and then he’s sitting in the back cutting daffodil stems. The back room, where Charles spends a majority of his time, unfortunately does not have any windows through which he can oogle the man across the street. While zoned out, Charles vaguely hears the bell above the front door ding, meaning someone must have wandered in.

“This place is so cute.” he hears someone say, their voice muffled through the door, “I look at it every single day from across the street, I really wanted to come see it.”

Charles perks up; he stops cutting daffodil stems for a moment to listen. Is that him? No, it wouldn’t be him, the voice is too high. He listens to Burr exchange conversation with the mystery tattoo parlor worker for a moment, until finally he hears the voice ask, “Do you have anymore daffodils?”

Charles scrambles to finish cutting the stems of the flowers he’s holding in his hand, tossing them into a holder as he hears Burr say, “Let me go look in the back.”

Burr comes in through the swinging door as Charles finishes cutting the last of the stems. “Are those ready?” he asks, reaching for them.

Charles grabs the holder and stands up abruptly, “I can check them out.”

Burr gives him a strange look, “Okay.” he says slowly, “If you want to.”

Charles slides past him and pushes through the door to the front; on the other side of the counter is standing the daughter - or the very small twin - from across the street. She’s holding the single daffodil in her hand. 

Charles sets the holder on the counter, “Do you - um - want more daffodils?” he asks awkwardly.

She looks up at him, “Um, yeah.” she glances at the holder, “Can I pick?”

“Sure.” Charles says, stepping to the side to let her look at the flowers; she starts picking through them. He looks down at the counter for a moment, then back up at her, “Um, you look a little young to be a tattoo artist.” he comments, for now that he’s looking at her up close she can’t be more than seventeen.

She laughs, “Oh, I’m not.” she tells him, “I just work the front desk. My dad’s going to teach me how to be one, eventually, though.”

“Oh, uh, is your dad a tattoo artist?” Charles asks, stupidly.

“Yeah.” she says nonchalantly, “He owns the place.”

Charles feels more intimidated than ever, “That’s cool.” he says, trying not to let it show.

She takes a moment to gather the bouquet up to look nice; he grabs her a rubber band from underneath the counter, “Who are the flowers for?” he asks.

“My boyfriend.” she says casually, “He likes daffodils.”

“Oh, cool.” Charles says, “You should, um, come back to get flowers here for mothers day. We have a sale.”

“Oh.” she says, “Sorry, I don’t have a mom.”

“Oh.” Charles says, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ve never had one.” she says, “My dad is gay.”

“Oh!” Charles says, perhaps a bit too excited; he clears his throat and tries again, “Um, cool. Cool. That’s cool. So you’ll have to buy, um, two bouquets on fathers day.”

“Nah, just the one.” she says; she’s giving him a look now, so Charles just clears his throat and takes the bouquet when she hands it to him.

“Just the daffodils?” he asks, and she nods, so he rings her up silently, “Thank you for coming.” he adds when he hands her the bouquet back.

She takes it back, still looking at him strangely, “I’ll be back.” she says, and Charles swallows, but before he can ask when she means she’s turned and left the store.

“Please stop offering to work the register.” Burr says, startling Charles, “You’re so awkward.”

“Shut up.” Charles snaps.

…

Frances pushes the door open to the parlor open and greets Hercules, who she asked to watch the front desk while she was across the street. “Hey, Herc.” she says, and he nods in greeting, “Thank you for watching the front.” she sets the bouquet down on the desk, “I’m gonna go talk to my dad really fast, and then I’ll be back, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Hercules says, and Frances grins and disappears into the back room.

“Hey, dad?” Frances calls, and he answers with a noise instead of a coherent response, so it takes her a minute to find him. When she does, he’s in the middle of rearranging the shelves behind his desk, which she sits down on top of to watch him. “I went to that flower shop across the street.” she tells him after a moment.

“Oh?” John says, not looking at her but still sounding intrigued, “And how was it?”

“Nice inside. They had pretty flowers.” Frances says, “I bought George a bouquet. Also, I think that the guy who rang me up has a crush on you.”

“What?” John asks, then tries to stand up too fast and hits his head on one of the shelves; Frances laughs at him. He turns around, rubbing his head, “What on Earth gave you that impression?”

“He kept asking about you.” Frances says, “He asked about your job and then he asked about my mom and got weirdly excited when I told him I didn’t have one because you were gay.”

John gives her a look, “You told him I was gay?”

“You have  _ two  _ pride tattoos.” Frances points out.

“They’re not that  _ big.”  _ John argues, “Besides, I doubt he has a crush on me.”

“I beg to differ.” Frances says, “You should invite him to Friday wings.”

“Friday wings is a Legacy thing only.” John says, “You know that.”

“It used to just be a John and Frances thing only.” Frances says, “But then Laf and Adrienne and Hercules joined in and  _ now  _ it’s a Legacy thing. So why can’t it be a Legacy  _ and  _ the guy that works across the street at General Flowers who has a crush on my dad thing?”

John gives her a look, “Shouldn’t you be at the front?”

“Fair point.” Frances says, hopping off the desk, “Think about it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So, I’m assuming we  _ aren’t _ going to Canes,” Georges de Lafayette crosses his arms and looks through his round glasses down at Frances. She spreads her hands wide and grins.

“Nope! I’m a big fat liar and I need you two for a scheme.” She says happily.

“I called it.” Philip Hamilton is leaning against a storefront, chewing gum and wearing high waisted jeans. It was quite a look for a sunny day like today, but the sunflowers in the display behind him match his shirt. Georges frowns at him.

“When?” He asks.

Phillip blows a bubble and pops it, “In the car on the way over here. I said ‘ _ Frances only loves us for our hair and our willingness to go along with her plans _ ’ and then you said ‘ _ your willingness maybe _ ’ and then we almost hit that bird.”

Frances clapped in front of their faces, startling them to attention.

“Focus, grasshoppers.” She says seriously, “This isn’t just any mission, it’s a love mission.” 

Philip coos interestedly, standing up straight to listen, but Georges’ semi-permanent frown - a side effect of being around these two since birth - deepens. 

“I thought you already had a boyfriend?” Georges asks skeptically.

Frances waves her hands dismissively, “George is great, okay? Besides, this isn’t for me, it’s for my dad.” 

Philip’s cooing increases as she gestures into the flower shop window. “You see that guy in there at the counter?” She asks

Georges looks into the window, squinting against the glare. He could make out a man going through the change in the cash register. “Yeah?”

“Well, he has a  _ huge _ crush on my dad,” She points towards the shop door, “and I need you to go in there and - ”

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Philip held up a hand, “before you send my boyfriend into enemy territory - ”

“Philip,” Frances says, annoyed.

“ - How do you know he has a crush on your dad?” Philip finishes.

Frances groans and rubs her face, “Because he’s obvious, now one of you go in,” she takes the baseball cap she’s wearing off, “and leave this somewhere where he’ll find it.” 

Georges takes the offered cap carefully. The logo for Legacy is scrawled across the front in gold thread. It was the only uniform the employees of John’s business had to wear. 

Georges looks back up at Frances, “So I suppose your plan is to subliminally message your future stepdad into love?” 

Philip giggles, and Frances crosses her arms. “No, I’m going to send a very clear message. Once he comes across the street to return the cap, it arranges their meet cute.”

“You can’t force love Frances,” Georges admonishes, “Think like an adult,”

She blows a raspberry in his face and snatches the hat back. He mops the spit off while complaining loudly as Frances offers the hat to Philip.

“Hamilton, your lover has betrayed me, time to step up.” She says highly. 

Philip huffs and turns on a heel, “I don’t have to do jack or shit.” he says defiantly, “ _ Your _ dad,  _ your _ plan,  _ you _ leave the hat.”

Frances sputters, “He’s already seen me! I don’t want to be suspicious - ”

“We’re arguing outside a flower shop and have been for five minutes, it’s  _ already _ suspicious - ”

“Guys, please, it’s not a great plan in the first place - ” Georges steps between his two friends and puts his size to use in separating them. 

Frances isn’t exactly appreciative, “Fuck you! You French twizzler! My plan is fantastic!”

Philip takes a step back, “If it’s so fantastic, why do you need us?”

Georges closes his eyes, as if in pain, “Pip, implying  _ you’re _ the bad part of the operation isn’t the goal here - ”

“No! No, he’s right, I  _ don’t _ need you.” Frances throws her hands up and begins walking away from them both, hat still in hand.

“Then how are you planning to put the hat in there without being seen?” Philip ducks under Georges’ arm to ask and his boyfriend blocks him again, unsure if Frances would change her mind and attack.

Frances marches towards the door and pulled it open, “Like  _ this _ !” She shouted, throwing the cap inside.

Right into Charles’ face.

He stumbles back against the door in surprise, several boxes of roses tumbling to the ground, collapsing in a half sitting position.

He looks at the cap.

He looks at the roses.

He looks at the three teenagers standing in the door, horrified and silent. 

The girl bolts. The boys hesitate before heading straight after her, the door closing with a friendly jingle.

Charles stood up straight cautiously, and began to pick up the flowers. It was one of those days. This might as well happen. He only pauses when he goes to pick up the cap, taking in the script on the front, and the tag inside the back.

_ Property of John Laurens. _

What a nice name.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not like Charles is intimidated by the building across the street.

It’s more like he’s intimidated by the people  _ in  _ the building.

The building itself is very nice looking, for a tattoo parlor. The people inside of it are very nice looking, too, which is mostly the problem. He’s been holding onto the hat that got thrown in his face for three days, now, trying to figure out what he’s going to say when he tries to return it. Part of him wants to just leave it hanging on the doorknob so he doesn’t have to deal with it, but a louder part of him wants him to go inside to return it so his chances of seeing the guy he likes increase. 

“Where’d you get that hat?” Burr asks, startling Charles out of his thoughts.

“Oh, um, someone… threw it at me.” Charles says, which prompts Burr to raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, “It belongs to someone at the tattoo parlor across the street.”

Burr takes the hat from him and inspects it, his eyes finding the name stitched onto it. “Oh, hey, I know him.”

“You do?” Charles asks.

“Yeah.” Burr says, handing the hat back to him, “He’s friends with Alex.” Charles makes a face, “He owns the place.”

“Oh.” Charles says, “Cool.”

Burr hesitates, then asks, “So are you going to give it back?”

“Oh, yeah.” Charles says, “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll do that at lunch.”

…

When Charles comes in the front door of Legacy, the girl sitting at the front desk looks up at him, and then immediately stands up and bolts into the back room. Not a great first impression. Luckily someone else is manning the front desk in the waiting room area. A heavyset man sat looking at his phone, rich colorful inks sharp against dark skin, trailing down his neck and curling around a bicep. He looks up, notices Charles, and puts his phone away.

“Oh, hey there.” The man scoots his chair up attentively, “Do you have an appointment?” 

Charles clutches the hat, “Uh, no.” 

The man seems to consider this, then nods, “That’s alright, we take walk ins.” He says, and stands up. And up. And up some more. Whatever correction had been forming on Charles’ tongue shrivels and dies as he stares up at the mountain of a man that has risen from behind the counter. A huge hand claps him on the shoulder with more force than Charles had ever inflicted upon anyone in his entire life. “Come on, we have a few seats open.”

“Um,” Charles found his feet following wherever the guy was guiding him, farther into the shop. The cap is clutched against his chest like a teddy bear, or an ineffective security blanket. The place reminds him of a barber shop, with seats on the sides and a walkway in the middle. Another patron is laying under the buzz of an active needle and Charles’ stomach does some impressive acrobatics.

He’s gently nudged into a seat, which he falls back into with a small exhale. The man gives him a smile and starts walking back towards the waiting area, “Someone will be with you soon!”

“…Thanks.” Charles manages around the lump in his throat. 

A clatter to his right causes him to jump and swivel in the seat, nerves coming alive. There he was. The man.  _ The  _ man. The man with the nice hair and the nice arms and the nice legs and the  _ very  _ nice face now that Charles is looking at him up close. The subject of Charles’ many daydreams. And night dreams. And on a few occassions, wet dreams.

The man grins and Charles is pretty sure he dies. “Hey, I’m John. I’ll be taking care of you today, if that’s alright?” He says.

Charles nods his head quickly, unable to speak. John sets down the box he was holding down and pops it open.

“Is this your first time here with us today? Or have you had tattoos before?” He asks.

“I…” he hesitates, “…have never been here, no.” 

John rummages through the box and pulls out a few cotton balls, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and several bottles of ink.

“First time, huh?” He asks, “It’s alright if you’re nervous, but I’m very good at my job, don’t worry,” 

The rest of what John is saying to him is lost as Charles fixates on his arms. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing all the ink he had glimpsed from a distance. One arm connected the numerous freckles adorning his skin with black lines, forming constellations on his skin. The other was… Charles isn’t sure what that sleeve was, exactly. It looks like layers upon layers of steadily improving doodles and patterns in black ink.

“Sir?” Charles snapps back to reality. 

“What?” Charles asks nervously.

“Where do you want it?” John asks.

“Want what?” Charles asks.

John blinks, “Your tattoo?” He starts going off into a long spiel about size and reference images that fly past Charles’ ears until his own voice pipes up against the din.

“I don’t want that.” He says quickly, before immediately dissolving under John’s gaze. There’s a pause, and then Charles continues hastily, “I came to return this hat.” He holds it out; John takes it. “Somebody…” oh, God, did he want to be the poor retail worker who got stuff thrown at him? “…left it in my store.”

John is staring, so Charles continues, “I work at that flowershop across the street?” He points out the window; John keeps staring, so Charles adds, “With the green awning?” just trying to fill the void now.

John is holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball, “I was about to start prepping your skin,” He said slowly, “And you never wanted a tattoo?”

Charles shakes his head nervously, and then John turns around, “ _ Hercules, what the hell?!” _

Charles jumps at the sudden volume increase directed at the front office and the big guy from earlier, Hercules, pokes his head out.

“What?” He asks innocently.

“This guy didn’t want a tattoo!” John exclaims. 

“What?” Hercules repeats.

“He didn’t ask for one, Herc!” John says.

“He never  _ told _ me that!” Hercules says defensively.

“Really, it’s fine.” Charles says awkwardly.

“He came to return a hat.” John explains, holding the hat up.

“Then he should have  _ told _ me that!” Hercules argues.

“Oh, you poor thing.” 

Charles looks down, still in the seat, at the small freckled hand on his shoulder, and then up at the girl it belongs to. It happens to belong to John’s very small twin; or, perhaps, not twin, because she’s much younger than John.

“Dad,” She says, looking up at John, “he can totally sue us for emotional damage.”

John looks down at her, then at Charles, obviously feeling a lot of different things.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Charles manages. 

“But you could.” The girl stated, looking at him seriously.

“ _ Francine _ .” John says tightly.

“You guys should invite him to wing night! You know, because of manners,” She’s giving her father a look and John looks back at Hercules for backup, receiving none. 

John looked back at his daughter, hesitating, “I mean… if he  _ wants _ to come - ”

“Great!” Francine exclaims, and suddenly Charles is hauled up out of his seat and has a note thrusted into his hands, “It’s this Friday, six o’clock. Everything you need to know is on that sticky note. Don’t lose it! And don’t be late.” 

She’s somehow marching him towards the door with more force than Hercules had put on him. “And thanks for the hat okay bye.” She adds quickly. 

The bell jingles and Charles stands on the sidewalk for a moment, counting his gains and losses, then slowly walks back towards his place of work, dazed.

Frances beams at his retreating figure from the parlour window, then looks down at her phone. 

“Frances, I don’t know why you did that, but I don’t trust it.” Her dad stood behind her, arms crossed. 

“You’re welcome,” Frances responds, with no further explanation, as she sends a text to her, Philip's, and Georges’ groupchat.

_ ‘Moving to phase two.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do we LOOK like we've ever been inside of a tattoo parlor


	4. Chapter 4

“Psst, Martha.”

Martha turns around from where she’d been holding idle conversation with John at the front of the store. They just closed, and he’s sweeping, and she was about to start helping when she sees Frances peeking at her from the back room.

She grins, “What’s up?”

“Shh!” Frances exclaims loudly, which startles Martha. Frances waves her hand the beckon her to the back, then disappears. Martha glances over her shoulder at John, who hasn’t noticed, and then follows.

She finds the rest of her coworkers in the back room, and when Martha walks in Frances immediately locks the door.

“That wasn’t ominous at all.” Martha remarks, sitting down next to her wife, “What’s up, kiddo?”

Frances flips over a bucket and stands on it as a pedestal; she starts to address all of them, but Maria interrupts her, “You really shouldn’t stand on that.” she says, “It’s unstable.”

“I won’t be up here long.” Frances assures her.

“If you fall down and break your arm again, your dad is gonna get mad at us.” Maria tells her.

Frances huffs and steps down from the bucket, “My dad getting mad is precisely the reason I’ve gathered you here this evening.”

“What did you do this time?” Hercules asks.

“Nothing!” Frances says defensively, “I didn’t do anything.”

All of them give her skeptical looks, at which she bristles and pushes forward, “Who’s on team  _ my dad has a huge stick up his ass?” _

“Oh, me.” Martha says immediately, raising her hand, “I basically created that team.”

“Well, you’ve passed the team onto me, and now I’m suffering for it, because I’m his sixteen year old daughter.” Frances says.

“Your point being?” Hercules asks.

“My point being,” Frances continues, “That guy who works at the flower shop across the street, Charles?”

“The one we almost gave a tattoo to earlier?” Hercules asks.

“Yes, him!” Frances says, “He has a crush on my dad.”

“Uh oh.” Maria coos.

“So my plan is this: don’t show up to wing night, and let my dad and Charles go on a date because it’s what he deserves.” Frances tells them.

“Should you be meddling in your dad's love life?” Martha asks, grinning.

“Well  _ he’s _ not meddling in it.” Frances says, “So  _ I _ have to do all the work.”

Maria laughs, “Okay,” she says, looking over at her wife, “I’m down if you’re down.”

“I’m very down.” Martha says, giving Frances a thumbs up, “Good plan, Fran. I hope it works out.”

Frances beams at her, then unlocks the door and scurries out into the front of the store. The three of them are quiet for a moment, before Hercules says, “So is this team  _ replace the stick in John’s ass with something else  _ now, or..?”

Martha laughs loudly, and Maria covers her face to hide her smile, blushing.

…

John claims their usual booth before everyone else gets there, but he’s surprised how long he has to wait for them to show up. Frances isn’t with him; she’s on a date with George, apparently at a one-evening-only event that she absolutely had to miss wing night for, so he’s waiting by himself. The waiter comes by three times while he’s there alone, asking when the rest of his party is going to show up, considering John is sitting by himself at one of the biggest tables at the restaurant.

The waiter has just left him for the third time when Maria texts him,  _ “Hey, me and Martha are going to stay in tonight, I hope that’s okay. <3” _

Martha also texts him at almost the exact same time,  _ “Can’t make it tonight, loser. Getting laid. Xx” _

John huffs and turns his phone off, but as soon as he does the screen lights up with a text from Hercules,  _ “Pegs is sick so I’m staying in with her. Have fun ;)” _

John sighs, embarrassed, because now he’s the only one who’s ever going to show up and he’s going to have to leave, because he doesn’t want to be the weirdo eating dinner by himself.

“Hey.”

John looks up from his phone to see Charles standing across the table, looking vaguely mortified. John wonders why, for a moment, before realizing Charles is slightly overdressed for a restaurant that only serves wings. 

Charles reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sticky note, “I’m sorry,” he says, “I mean I thought - I was late? The note your… daughter gave me said six o’clock, but it’s six thirty…”

“And I’m the only one here.” John says, “Everyone else bailed on me, so it would seem.”

“Oh.” Charles says, somewhat relieved that he no longer has to eat dinner surrounded by strangers.

“You really didn’t have to come.” John says.

“Didn’t I?” Charles asks, “Your daughter kinda made me feel like she was gonna beat me up if I didn’t show up.”

John winces, “Sorry about that.”

Charles starts to say something, but a distressed looking waiter appears at his side, “Sir, is the rest of your party arriving or  _ not?” _

_ “Not.”  _ John says bitterly, moving to get out of the booth, “Sorry, I’m leaving.”

The waiter presses his lips into a thin line and leaves without saying anything else. John climbs out of the booth with some trouble, “I’m sorry she kinda stole your Friday night.” he apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Charles says, “I never do anything on Friday night.”

“This is all I ever do on a Friday night.” John admits.

They’re both quiet for a moment, unsure of what to do, then Charles asks, “So should I just leave?”

John suddenly feels bad, recognizing that Charles clearly got dressed up for this, “I mean, uh,” he pauses, hesitating, “Do you wanna do something this Friday night?”

Charles frowns, “Next week?”

“No,” John says quickly, “I meant this current Friday night. This night. Tonight.”

“Oh.” Charles says, blushing, “Um, here?”

John glances over his shoulder, and catches the eye of the waiter who is still very obviously waiting for him to leave, “Uh,” he looks back at Charles, “I think I’ve pissed off the employees enough tonight, here. I know somewhere better.”

…

AJ is the host; that’s all he’s old enough to do right now. He greets John casually - more casually than he’s supposed to greet other customers - and leads them to a table.

“Angie will be right with you.” AJ says cheerfully, and then disappears.

Philip walks out of the kitchen, sees John and Charles, and immediately darts back into the kitchen. He checks that his mom can’t see him, then pulls his phone out, holds it up to the window on the kitchen door, takes a photo of the two of them, and texts it to Frances, “ _ Do you want me to do something about this??????” _

Frances, who is absolutely not at a one-evening-only event with her boyfriend and is instead making out with him on the couch in her living room, only pauses to check her phone because she recognizes Philip’s ringtone. She knows he’s working, and she knows he knows better than to text while doing so, so it must be important.

She unlocks her phone and immediately squeals, shoving her boyfriend off of her; he seems incredibly startled by this. Before he can ask her about it, she climbs back on top of him, holding her phone up, “Look!”

He squints at the photo, “Is that your dad?”

“Yes!” She says excitedly.

She texts Philip,  _ “PLEASE TELL ME THAT TABLE IS IN YOUR SECTION” _

A quick glance and Philip responds,  _ “It’s not.” _

Frances responds immediately,  _ “FIX THAT” _

And a follow up text,  _ “AND KEEP ME UPDATED” _

She sends this text, tosses her phone on the coffee table, and goes back to making out with George.

Philip drops his phone in his pocket and leaves the kitchen again; he grabs Angie’s arm as she walks past him, “Hey!” he says, glancing out at the floor, “Uhhh, switch twelve and three with me.”

“What? Why?” Angie asks.

“Please!” Philip says, with no explanation.

“No!” Angie says, pulling her arm out of his grip and starting towards John and Charles’ table.

“I’ll pay you!” Philip says desperately.

She stops and looks at him skeptically, “How much?”

Philip considers, but he knows he has to do this fast, so he says, “How much do you want?”

Angie grins wickedly.

…

“Hi, I’m Philip, I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” 

John glances up at him, “Oh, hey Pip.” he says, “AJ said Angie would be waiting on us.”

“AJ is a little lier.” Philip says cheerfully, “Can I get you something to drink?”

They order their drinks and Phillip scurries off. Charles tries to read the menu but John’s tattooed arm in his peripheral vision reminds him of how nosy and gay he is. His eyes drift up from the arm to John’s smiling eyes and he immediately wants to throw himself off a bridge.

“If you were wondering, the tattoo is for my daughter.” John explains.

“Oh?” Charles says, like he wasn’t ogling him ten seconds ago. 

John rolls his left sleeve and Charles takes deep, controlled, homosexual breaths. “See when Frances turned one she made me this flower.” He points at the section of wrist closest to his hand. 

Charles squints at it, “Oh it’s… nice.”

“It looks like a squid.” John says.

“Just like a squid.” Charles agrees.

John points at the next ring up. “She makes me something new every birthday.” 

Charles leans in for a closer look. The drawings did seem to get better and better the further up they went. John traced over a ring of turtles and talked about her sixth birthday, which Charles would have gladly listened to if he didn’t want to reach out and touch his arm so bad.

“Are you ready to order?” 

Charles flailed back and nearly spilled his drink, which he had not noticed had been set down. 

John looks at him little sheepishly at Phillip, bringing up his menu. “Um, actually could we have a little more time?” 

Phillip smiles as he slides away. “Take all the time you need.”

The food was good. It wasn’t great, but it was good enough for Charles to talk about his dog and how she would only eat if she got to sit in a chair.

“She thinks she’s a person, I swear to God.” He manages over John’s laughter.

“When Frances was little and going off milk to food, I would sit her at the table in her high chair and she would try and take the spoon away from me.” John tells Charles happily, “Like I’d go to feed her the airplane and she would want to grab it instead.”

“Oh, my gosh, I bet she was adorable.” Charles seems enamoured with the idea. 

John takes a sip of his drink, grinning, “Yeah she was pretty cute.” 

“Man, you’re so lucky - I mean,” Charles looks down at the table, a little embarrassed, “I always wanted kids but never got around to having… anyone to have them with.” 

John smiled coyly, “Honestly, I was always sort of indifferent about kids.” he admits, “Being a single parent was… an accident. A happy one, now that I actually  _ have _ Frances, but at the time I thought my life was over.” 

Charles hesitates, then he asks, “So how did Frances… happen?”

John grins almost sheepishly, “Well, uh, I got laid about sixteen years ago.”

“Oh, yeah.” Charles says, “As I’m sure, um, men like you do. Because you’re attractive. And all.” Charles wants to melt into the floor.

John chuckles, blushing a little bit, “I guess.” he says, “And then Frances… happened.”

“Oh.” Charles is quiet for a moment, “So… her mom - ?”

“Oh, no mom.” John says quickly, “I’m gay.”

“Oh!” Charles says.

He’s unsure what to do with the conversational batton John has passed him; lucky for him, Philip swoops in at that exact moment and sets a dessert down on the table.

“Oh, we didn’t order this.” John says quickly.

“It’s a gift.” Philip says, knowing Frances owes him seven dollars.

“Oh,” John glances back down at it; it’s something chocolate, sat on one plate with two spoons, “Do you have another plate?”

Philip falters, “Uh,” he glances between them, “No, sorry, we’re fresh out.”

He bolts before either one of them can ask him how they can be out of  _ plates.  _

John and Charles exchange a glance, before John glances down at the dessert sitting between them, “Sorry,” he says, grinning, “This feels like a very… coupley thing to do.”

“It’s fine.” Charles assures him immediately, having absolutely no problem doing coupley things with John. He puts much of the dessert in his face to stop himself from telling John that he would like to do  _ more  _ coupley things with him.

Philip takes another picture through the window on the door to the kitchen and sends it to Frances,  _ “They’re sharing the dessert and also you better paypal me tonight.” _

Frances responds with,  _ “You’ll get your money at the wedding.” _ followed by an immediate notification that she has paypaled him seven dollars.

Philip starts to respond, to tell Frances that with the eyes Charles is making at her dad the wedding might be tomorrow, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks up to see his mom, frowning at him, her hand held out wordlessly; he doesn’t try to argue with her as he hands his phone over.

…

The walk back to Charles’ apartment is short.

“You live closer than I thought.” John comments as they’re walking up the stairs.

“Well, you know, I don’t own a car and I have to get to work, and the walk in the morning is nice.” Charles says, “And it’s easy to walk my dog.”

“Me and Fran live, like, a block from here.” John comments.

“Oh, that’s cool.” Charles says, “I see you guys walking to work all the time. Although to be honest, your daughter looks so much like you, for the longest time I couldn’t tell if she was your kid or your very small twin.”

John snorts, “Oh, she’s my kid.” he says, “My dad says she acts exactly like me. And looks exactly like me, too, when I was a teenager.”

“Which is like, so weird,” Charles comments, “Like, I get sons who look just like their dads and daughters who look just like their moms, but she looks  _ just like you!” _

John nods, “Yup, it’s crazy.”

They stop in front of Charles’ apartment, and his dog seems to hear him or smell him or both from the other side of the door, because she immediately begins barking. Charles flinches, “Sorry about her.”

“It’s fine.” John says, “Uh, sorry my daughter kind of bullied you into coming out tonight.”

“Oh, no, I’m glad she did!” Charles says, then immediately regrets being alive, “I mean - uh - I had a good time.”

“Me, too.” John says, grinning.

There’s a soft moment, then, where they’re standing closer than they were at the start of the night and Charles  _ really  _ wants to reach out and touch John’s arms. He feels like if they’re going to kiss, they should do it now. He wants to kiss him. He wants John to put his hands on his waist and kiss him; he wants to put his hands and John’s hair and kiss him back. He’s imagining the scenario so vividly, he almost forgets that they’re  _ not  _ kissing. Instead, they’re still just standing there, and Charles dog is still barking and it’s so humid outside Charles feels gross and he’s sure John does, too.

“SHUT YOUR DOG UP.” Charles’ neighbor yells, and he flinches.

“Sorry!” Charles says back, his voice cracking, and that officially destroys the mood because John laughs at him.

“Okay, uh, goodnight.” Charles says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his key; John nods at him and turns and heads back down the stairs. Charles spends several moments trying to get his key into the lock, and when he finally manages he slips inside, terribly embarrassed. His dog quiets immediately, now instead panting joyously as Charles relocks the door and then sinks down onto the floor, his dog licking his face as he does so.

“Was that a date?” Charles asks his dog; when she offers no answer beyond continuing to lick his face, he grabs her small head gently and forces her to look him in the eyes, “Was that a date?!”

She licks his nose, offering him none of her wisdom. 


	5. Chapter 5

John arrives home to find Frances lounging on the couch on her phone (sans George). As soon as she hears the door open she perks up, but she doesn’t want to look too obvious so she lays herself back on the couch. John hangs his keys up and walks into the living room, hovering over the couch and looking down at Frances.

“Oh, hey.” she says, looking up at him like she’s just now noticing his presence, “How was wing night?”

He’s frowning at her, “Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Frances asks innocently, sitting up.

“You know  _ exactly  _ what I mean!” John snaps, “I don’t know how you talked everyone into ditching wing night, or how you got Philip to wait on us,  _ or  _ how you did the dessert thing, but I know you’re the one behind all of it and I want you to  _ stop it.” _

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Frances says, acting offended.

“Yes, you do!” John says, “You have a  _ real  _ defensive voice, and a fake defensive voice that you use when you’re pretending not to know what I’m talking about, and that’s what you’re doing right now.”

“Damn.” Frances says softly, “Okay, well, so what if I am behind those things? Can you prove it?”

“Do you want to give me your phone?” John asks.

Frances is quiet for a moment, “Why are you mad about it anyways? It seemed to me like you were having a good time.”

“And how would you know that?” John asks.

“Because Philip was waiting on you!” Frances exclaims, “He’s my recon man!”

“Do not spy on me!” John snaps, “And do not set me up on dates!”

“You haven’t been on a date in  _ years!”  _ Frances argues.

“Because I have better things to focus on!” John says, “Like you! And the shop!”

“Like me, who’s going off to college in two years, and the shop, that literally only needs the attention a regular job needs.” Frances says, “Sounds like more of an excuse than an actual reason.”

“I will decide what I need to be focusing on.” John snaps, “I don’t want to have this conversation with you again, stop trying to set me up with him.”

“He likes you!” Frances claims, “I wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t!”

“He does not like me!” John insists, “Drop it, Francine.”

Frances huffs and lays back down on the couch angrily; as soon as her dad disappears into his room, she pulls her phone out and texts Philip,  _ “My dad is not taking kindly to the idea of a boyfriend.” _

Philip doesn’t respond, she assumes because he’s working, but she adds,  _ “Meet me at the flower shop tomorrow morning.” _

…

Frances has to text Georges to meet her at the flower shop instead; he brings Philip, who got his phone confiscated the night before for texting on the job. Georges seems anxious to be back outside the flower shop, in the same position they were in a few days earlier, “What are we doing here, Fran?”

“We’re getting my dad a boyfriend.” Frances says, peering in through the glass discreetly, “He’s working this morning. Philip, I want you to go in there and really talk up last night.”

“Sure,” Philip says sarcastically, “You already got my phone taken away from me, why not my dignity.”

“Stop being such a pussy.” Frances says, “Just go ask him about it. Georges, go with him as backup, pretty please.”

Georges looks ready to comply, but Philip places an arm across his chest, “What do we get in return?”

“My love and affection for sixteen more wonderful years.” Frances says lovingly.

“Pass.” Philip says.

“I will take you to Taco Bell.” Frances adds flatly.

“Now there’s an acceptable form of payment.” Philip says with a smile.

“Hardly.” Georges mutters.

“Okay, do not act like you haven’t snapchatted us while sitting in your car eating their nacho fries.” Philip says, “You may be my boyfriend but you can’t fucking fool me, I know what they look like.”

“Can we just go into the flower shop?” Georges asks, his face flushed.

…

Philip slides up to the counter, startling Charles, “Do you happen to have any lilies?”

“Lilies?” Charles asks, “Um, we might have… a few. Lilies aren’t very popular.”

“My boyfriend loves lilies.” Philip says, nodding over to Georges, who is picking at a display of yellow flowers and trying not to look like he’s up to anything. 

“Oh.” Charles says; he tries not to sound like  _ he  _ wishes  _ he  _ had a boyfriend, but it still comes out sad, “I think we have - ”

“Say,” Philip says suddenly interrupting him, “Do I know you?”

Charles blinks, “No, I don’t think so.”

Philip seems taken aback by that, “Really?” he asks, “Feels like I know you…”

Charles hesitates, “No…” he looks around the shop, “Um, we have a sale on hydrangeas, I can get those for you in white if you want, but any lilies we have will be pretty lackluster - ”

“I waited on you!” Philip exclaims, as though he’s just now remembered; the sudden exclamation makes Charles jump.

“Sorry?” he asks.

“I waited on you!” Philip repeats, “Last night, on your date with the guy who owns the tattoo parlor.”

“Oh, no,” Charles says, blushing fiercely, “No, that wasn’t a date.”

Philip tilts his head, “It wasn’t?”

Charles hesitates, still blushing, “I don’t know.”

Philip grins, “Well, it sure  _ looked  _ like a date.”

Charles messes with the vase of flowers on the counter near the register, “Really?”

“Yeah!” Philip says enthusiastically, “I totally thought you guys were dating.”

“We’re not.” Charles admits.

“Well, you should be.” Philip tells him, “You’d make a cute couple.”

Charles is blushing too hard to respond, and then Philip leans up against the counter, “And between you and me, I’m friends with his daughter, Frances, and she said her dad likes you an awful lot.”

Before Charles can process or respond to such a statement, Philip picks a red rose out of the vase and sets it on the counter, “I’ll come back for lilies another time.” he says, “This will be all for now.”

Charles looks down at the single rose, “… Just take it.”

“Really?” Philip asks, and Charles nods, “Thanks, dude!” he says, plucking the rose up and turning away from the counter. He gives the rose to Georges as they’re leaving, obviously flustering him, and once they’re gone Charles is alone in the shop with his thoughts. His very, very gay thoughts.


End file.
